


Retribution

by Sayl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, F/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 21:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayl/pseuds/Sayl
Summary: Years after marriage, Lon'qu tells Tharja the gruesome detail of what happened to Ke'ri...The whole story. And Tharja decides to take matters into her own hands...





	Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> This is going off some personal headcanons a friend I had, which involves Lon'qu and Tharja's B-A support revealing a little less detail about Ke'ri. But talking about ti really inspired me to write another Lon'qu Tharja drabble because I really REALLY love these two and how they work together.

 

 

> _She’d known the basics. He’d told her years ago that his fear of women was due to failing to protect his childhood friend..._

     But the trauma was too deep, there was nothing she could do without wiping his childhood memories entirely. The conversation ended there. He’d left out the gruesome details. She hadn’t pressed them, though she knew he was hiding parts. A silent understanding settled in between them, never planning to speak of the events again.

     But that was then. Now they’re married a few years. They’ve been through Hell and back alone and together. She’s shared with him dark secrets of her own past. Things she’d never shared with anyone else, things that made his blood boil. But he’d kept his calm, listened to her. Talked with her. There was no need for empty sympathies between them, no pity between two broken people who’d found comfort in each other’s shadow.

     And so one day, Lon’qu tells her the rest. The reason why what happened with Ke’ri had traumatized him so badly. She hadn’t just been a girl he knew. She was his best friend, his lover. He hadn’t been just too weak to fight off numerous men, he hadn’t been able to offer them  _anything_ to go away. He didn’t have a cent to his name, nothing of value to bargain for their safety, not even for just hers. And they didn’t just kill her. The bandits were looking for money or some form of compensation. When neither of them had that, they took out their frustration on him…And took what they wanted from her. Powerless to stop them as he was held down, he’d been forced to watch as they tortured her, defiled her…And executed her, before slicing his femoral artery and leaving him for dead.

    Silence had been the response at first, a somber quiet as they both mulled over what he’d just divulged. Lon’qu’s teeth are clenched, trying to keep his emotion reigned in, though speaking of this part of his past is unbearably painful for him. No empty apologies from Tharja over something neither could control, neither could change. Just her words of understanding, subtle comfort that few (if any others) ever saw from her. But he could see the flash in her eyes. That sharp moment of intensity when he told her what the bandits did. He recognized it immediately, despite how quickly it came and went.

    Unbridled fury. Much like his own when he’d learned of her own past hells. Different as they were, they were kindred spirits in a way. But despite that inner rage, she kept her exterior calm. She can’t rid him of the memory of it without sacrificing more. She can’t cure his fear, but she offers a calming spell for now, something to help him clear his mind and shift his focus.

    With the horrifying images still playing through his mind, he readily accepts. Though he doesn’t have a drop of magic in his blood, he’s grown used to hers over the years. As she moves to kneel behind him, sitting on her heels, slender fingers reach for the sides of his head and pull him back. Leaning back against her, he’s still tense, even as her fingers run through his hair and pull it back. Her magic seeps from her fingertips to his skull, coaxing the tension out of his jaw, his shoulders, the rest of him. The memories don’t disappear, but they fade for now, replaced by a quiet tranquility, his breathing becoming slow and even. Tharja’s hands continue to soothe.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

    Two weeks later, she’s gone. It wasn’t uncommon for them. Multiple times a year, particularly in the brutal Ferox winters, Tharja would take a vacation to warmer climates, often to Plegia in the south. His duties bind him to Ferox, leaving their home cold and empty for most of the day. He spends longer in the training grounds, avoiding the silence and empty bed. Though he’d never stop her from leaving, it’s no secret when she does, his tendencies and demeanor shifting just slightly around other company.

    And within another fortnight, he hears the sound of the door opening behind him. It’s late, he’s already in his sleep-pants about to turn in for the night. But the noise immediately draws his attention, yanking his gaze away from the bedroom and toward the front door. He opens his mouth to greet her, but hesitates. Something about her stance, about the look on her face, isn’t normal. Usually when she comes back, she acts as if she’s only been out to market for a few hours. His posture straightens, brows knitting together as he scrutinizes her expression. He can’t read what she’s thinking, but he knows she’s about to tell him  _something_.

_**“** What happened **?”**_

    She reaches into her cloak, pulling something from her belt before she casts it forward, throwing it onto the floor between them. It skids across the wood floor, spinning slightly as it comes to a halt just before him. It’s a dagger, some spots dried blood still coating the edges of the blade and the leather of the grip. His eyes flit from the weapon and back up to her briefly, before returning to the blade on the floor. He leans down, slowly lifting the knife from the floor to examine it. But he doesn’t understand. What was the dagger for? Who did it belong to? Where did she get it?  
What did she  _do_?

    The look he shoots to his wife silently asks all those questions at once. Tharja’s intense gaze doesn’t falter, dark eyes holding his. But her chin tilts up just slightly, her tone low and serious, but there’s a subtle bite underlying her words.

    “I killed them.”

    His gaze narrows again. Killed  _who_?  _ **“** What **?”**_

    “I killed the bastards,” she repeats, no waver in her voice. “I didn’t make it quick…I made it painful…They deserved worse.”

    And that’s when he sees the flash in her eyes again. The same one he’d seen a month ago. That’s when he makes the connection. Eyes widen as his mouth goes agape. His hands go numb and the blade slides out from the loose grip of his fingers. The dagger hits the floor, clattering against the wood as he stands there, rendered frozen.

    Ever since that day, he’d spent so much time loathing himself for what happened. He blamed himself for her death, for being unable to protect her or stop them. It wasn’t until Cherche had told him she’d saved Ke’ri’s parents from the same bandits that he’d considered revenge. As a youth, he’d assumed he’d never see them again. But the fact that it was possible had caused his mind to drift that way. If he ever saw those bandits again…What would he  _do_?

    Kill them? Certainly. Without hesitation. But that was the problem. He was a killer: swift and efficient. They didn’t deserve a quick execution. But he doesn’t know the first thing about proper revenge or torture. And he’d never dared vocalize his consideration of it, constantly surrounded by people of noble ideals and high standards of morality. In his quest to redeem himself, he’d buried his darker desires, trying to drown them out by following the footsteps of others who he deemed righteous…Who the world deemed righteous.

    But try as he might, Lon’qu is anything but. His sense of justice is skewed. He follows orders to keep himself from slipping into his own violent moral code. There was no room for seeking out revenge in his quest for reclamation. It won’t change anything. It won’t bring her back. It won’t make it right. That was what everyone had told him, what he told himself.

    If that was true…then why was what Tharja had done so  _satisfying_?

    She’d done this for him, and perhaps even for Ke’ri and herself to some extent. But she’d done it for _him_. Though he’d sometimes dreamed of taking the knife to those men himself, he feels no envy or resentment that she’s taken this kill upon herself. Quite the opposite, really.

    Not because it absolves him of responsibility. It doesn’t. But because he knows that she would do a better job of it than he ever could. He knew murder: not pain, not vengeance. Those were things she understood. They didn’t deserve a merciful death, and though Tharja claims they deserved worse than what she gave them…

    He knows they paid for what they did. And they’ll never torment another soul again.

    Finally, he breaks from his stillness, stepping over the dagger as he slowly walks towards her. He doesn’t even know how she found them, but he has a suspicion. She had seen his memories before, she knew their faces as clearly as he did. And tracking hexes? Well within her capabilities, even if he didn’t understand how it worked.

    He drops to his knees, the motion controlled yet still the sound of his knees hitting the wood emits a soft _thud_. His arms slowly wrap around her, hands reaching up below her shoulder blades as he pulls himself in close. His head rests just below her chest, cheek pressed against her ribs. But he remains silent, focused on his breathing as he tries to absorb what’s just happened.

    She  _destroyed_ them for  _him_.

    Embraces like these were not frequent between them, neither particularly the type for overt romance or emotion. But for all his adoration of her before, it overwhelms him now. Even if this might show weakness, no matter how much he tries to keep his resolve, he doesn’t care. Her reaction wasn’t immediate, likely a bit surprised by this sudden display of silent, somber praise. After a moment, he feels her hands rest on the back of his head. He feels the tips of her nails brush along his skin as her fingertips slide down the back of his neck. Lon’qu breathes deep, holding his breath a moment before emitting an unsteady exhale. He turns his head, fingers curling as he clutches at her skin. He presses his lips against the sheer cloth that covers her stomach, holding that position a few seconds. It isn’t sensual, but there is a sort of passion behind it, bordering on worship.

    Every bit of darkness inside himself is reflected in her. He doesn’t have to hide it, he doesn’t have to be ashamed of it. Not with her. And just as she accepts his darkness…

                             _He embraces hers....._


End file.
